Dboy's letter
by SleepyCantWrite
Summary: ONESHOT. Dboy writes a letter to Eff  not connected to the main fic.


For Chi-Chai-Monchan. Because I promised to update but I still haven't, so hopefully this is some sort of consolation.  
I'm working on it now though, honest! It should be up tonight I DON'T NEED SLEEP XD

Note: D-boy and Eff are in their Human forms here :3

* * *

D-boy stared at the sheet of lined paper in front of him, the pen hovering just above it. No matter how much he willed himself to do so, his hand would not move it any closer in an attempt to write. He couldn't remember how long he'd sat there, his eyes transfixed on the sheet he'd torn from a tattered notepad. After all the time spent searching for something to write with, and on, the least he should do is make a start. But everytime the pen was about to make contact, D-boy's hand would jerk away. 

He sighed and threw the pen down with exasperation.

_I'm such a coward._

After taking a moment to calm down, D-boy stared at the blank page again, curling a bang of hair around his fingers. It was a habit he grown to doing out of anxiety, only now it had gotten to the point where it irritated him if he found himself indulging in it.

_At least the green's washing out..._D-boy observed as he forced himself to stop toying with his recently dyed hair. That had been Eff's fault, and Pyscho's chest tightened, his face growning warm. Originally, it had been black, only Eff had decided to switch the shampoo with hair dye "for fun". Said person now had bubblegum pink hair, whereas previously it had been a dirty blond colour, meaning he now had the attention he craved each time he stepped out of the house.

D-boy shook his head to rid himself of any thoughts concerning Eff, they wouldn't help. But it was too late, he had already worked himself up into such a state it would be impossible to even hold the pen, let alone _write_ anything. The former Figment pushed himself up off the bare wooden floorboards of his room and stretched. D-boy had forgotten how long he'd been sat cross-legged and now both his feet were numb, the circulation returning painfully. Limping to the door, he let out another sigh and opened it. Perhaps if he made himself something to eat he'd feel better.

_Popcorn. I'll make popcorn._

He was unsure why he had the sudden urge to eat the over-sugary food; D-boy rarely ate anything sweet and in his opinion popcorn tasted like how he imagined cardboard would. Especially the crap what Eff bought -

_Oh._

Nevertheless, D-boy went ahead into the kitchen and sifted through all the tins and packets of Eff's processed junk until he found what he was after. A twitch of a smile grazed his face as he pulled his prize from the cupboard and placed it on the hob.

"I do hope you aren't stealing my popcorn, Pyschodougboy."

_Shit. _D-boy wheeled round to find Eff slouching against the doorframe, hands slung limply in his trouser pockets. _Shit shit shit! Fuck! _The elder of the two tried to swallow in hope of making his mouth less dry, his stomach flipping horribly. A kernal of popcorn split open behind him, shocking him into speaking.

"So what if I am?"

Eff grinned slyly and D-boy's heart began to pound frighteningly fast. He prayed Eff couldn't hear it, as it sounded deafening to him. "It's not like you to eat that sort of stuff. You're always telling me it's full of shit and it's no good. Had a change of heart, have we?"

_Stop it._

"No. I just..." D-boy's hand reached for his hair to toy with, but stopped himself. "I just felt like it."

Eff raised an eyebrow, seemingly trying to decide whether to believe him or not. He then shrugged and ran a hand through his pink hair, "Whatever. Just don't start liking it too much and eat it all, otherwise I'll be upset."

It was said to mock him, but it felt as if Eff were playing with him. It reminded D-boy of the time he had watched a cat play with a bird it had injured.

_Does he...?_

D-boy frowned, "I doubt that."

Eff stood there for a short while, silent, staring at the tiled kitchen floor. Then without saying anything more, he left. The other breathed deeply, trying to calm his frantic body. He couldn't put it off any longer, the event which had just occured was more than enough to renew his motivation. With that, D-boy strode purposefully back to his room, and locked the door. Sitting down, he grasped the pen firmly in pale fingers and wrote the first sentence in his letter.

* * *

Hello Eff. 

I've been meaning to write this for a while now, but I guess I've not been brave enough until now. Or stupid enough. At least it's given me time to think this through, whether it's just something temporary that'll go away with time, or if it's not. I'm still not sure, not totally certain, but it's got to the point where I can't ignore it or make excuses. The truth is, I'm terrified of knowing. Still, it's not fair on me and definitely not fair on you. You have a right to know.

I just want you to know that I'm not doing this to try and win a victory from you, as I'm sure it'll be on your mind. It's not something I want to do, and even I wouldn't go this far. I hope you understand and believe me on that. If not, well, there isn't really much point in me writing this. So I'm putting myself out and taking a risk here by assuming you'll give me a chance to explain myself.

I feel sick. My hand wont even write the letters properly. I'll be honest with you Eff, I'm fucking shit scared. Maybe I'm just ill.

As I'm being so open, and I'm hoping you're still reading and taking me seriously, I want you to know I didn't want this. I haven't somehow done it on purpose, I'm not that suicidal. I could say it's your fault, it would be so easily to blame this all on you. At first I did, and I'll admit, it helped. Making excuses and deluding yourself never felt so good, to imagine that this is out of your hands, you can't help it. Someone else is responsible and you were helpless. No matter what anyone says, I couldn't think of a better way to cure myself of this. I say "cure" because I'm almost convinced this is some kind of illness or disease. Again, excuses which are so comforting. But Eff, if you were in my situation, could you really say you'd have done any different? You probably would because you're stubborn.

Provided you now haven't thrown this letter in the bin or set it on fire due to that last sentence, I'm going to stop defending myself and avoiding the subject. I just wanted to try and explain the situation first and hopefully convince you I'm being sincere. Although I wish this _was_ all just a scheme to beat you at an argument. That would be so much easier to cope with.

I'll be blunt Eff, there's no other way of saying it. Plus, anything too vague will confuse you or make things worse, and the whole point of this was to make you aware and understand.

I feel for you Eff.

I want you to know it took me over an hour to write that.

And I know it's something you don't want to hear. You wont believe it, most likely don't want to is more accurate. If you're still reading, and haven't started looking to confront me about this already, I want to apologise. I really am sorry. Like I said before, I didn't want this. Looking back, I can't even remember when I first felt this way. I remember minor things which crawled around in my mind, things you did or said, or what you didn't do. At first I blamed everything and anything, denied to myself I was the problem. That _I _was responsible. It seems stupid now the lengths I'd go to, and the excuses I'd make up. I tried to hide this all from you. If you found out or even suspected something was different in me, especially as I was denying it myself, then I had no idea what you'd do. Hopefully now that I'm beginning to let myself consider this as being real and not confused emotions - whatever you want to call it - you can begin to understand this.

If I was as careful in hiding this as I thought I was, this will be unexpected to say the least. I'm sorry that you have to deal with this, and that I've most likely ruined your ignorant bliss of being Real. The last thing I want to do right now is hurt you. I've hurt you before, just like you've hurt me, and I'm not going to say I regret all of the shit what happened between us. I admit I enjoyed our arguments; I revelled in the times I won and left you sulking and defeated. I do hate you Eff, I've never hated someone as much as you.

But that's what I don't understand. How I can I hate you, and feel for you at the same time? I realised long ago that you weren't doing anything to encourage me with this, in some sort of attempt at manipulating me. If you did, then you did it well. So then I started to think logically; what was it about you that made me feel this way? And you know what I found out? There was very little. It was ridiculously minor things which made my stomach feel strange and my chest ache. Which, in itself, are quite terrifying things for my body to do.

Eff.

I like it when we have our occasional periods of peace. Where we can have real conversations about something deep, or stupid conversations about how long the bread should stay in the toaster. Arguing is tiring, Eff. Being constantly on my guard, trying not to say or do anything you can use against me…it's hard. I know I'm contradicting myself here, and that's not helpful to either of us. To try and put it simply…I like our fights, but it's exhausting to fight all the time. Are you following this? I suppose you aren't even reading this, or you are but just to use it against me. Why wouldn't you? This is the biggest weapon you could possibly have.

I'm not going to stop you, I have no right to do that. If I know you as well I as I think I do, I've probably hurt and offended you more than I've ever done. It's ironic really, how the greatest way I can harm you is with affection. But by all means, mock me, _hate_ me. I daresay I deserve it. I wont like it, but I wont stop you or hold it against you. I'd rather…you didn't hate me. But how can I say that? No…I'd rather you take me seriously. That's all I ask.

I don't think I can write anymore. The pen's shaking too much and I can't even see the words anymore. They keep blurring together and I think I've left the popcorn on the stove because I can hear the alarm going off.

You don't like burnt popcorn, do you?

Eff, before I go, I want you to know I'm sorry. I don't think it's possible to force yourself to feel. Not like this. It's different from forcing yourself to like coffee, so please believe me in that I'm not doing this to spite you. Because of this, I can't make you feel the same way. I'm not even going to consider you already do, or would even at least contemplate about _not_ hating me. That's not what I want out of this though. I don't want to try and make you like me, I want you to understand how I feel and then you can do whatever you want. But Eff, I will try to cure myself of this. We both know that it's best if I didn't feel for you.

I'm sorry.

Shit. The popcorn.

* * *

I just added a backstory to this, and loved writing it.

This wont happen in the main fic, it's too nice and straight forward. Their relationship is NOT going to be either.


End file.
